


Something Borrowed

by WriterWithNoName1



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Established Relationship, Flirting, Kieran smokes like a chimney, Kissing, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Secret Relationship, Sharing Clothes, Smoking, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 00:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18487912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WriterWithNoName1/pseuds/WriterWithNoName1
Summary: Kieran and Bill aren't as sneaky as they think they are.





	Something Borrowed

**Author's Note:**

> This story should be called 'author is determined to make Kieran wearing Bill's shirts canon' XDD

Kieran hears footfalls approaching. A heavy step, not as heavy as Bill – who is currently lazing by a little fire they got going nearby, bottle in hand. No surprises there.

Shaking his head, Kieran does have to wonder about Mister Williamson. He has no idea how the man can possibly want a drink this early. By this rate, he’ll be booze blind before noon. It’s a wonder his liver hasn’t turned necrotic yet.

Kieran knows a little about Bill’s drinking.

It keeps the demons away.

_Crunch, crunch, crunch._

Feet on dried out grass. The camp and the inhabitants are in sore need of some rainfall. The horses don’t like it, especially having to stand out in the heat. Kieran begged Dutch to let him move the animals over to a shadier spot, and it seems to suit them better.

“Hey Kieran.”

It’s Arthur, Kieran suspected as much. He’s one of the few here who’ll take the time to talk to him, outside of ordering him about or trying to rile him up.

Kieran looks toward him. “Hello, sir.” He’s smoking, taking a short break before he gets back to it. Bill has his liquor, and Kieran has his tobacco. There are plenty of demons to share between them.

He can’t take too long, the chores won’t do themselves.

Saddles to be cleaned, hooves to pick, and coats to brush.

Work, work, work.

And Kieran wouldn’t have it any other way.

Arthur squares him up, standing with his hands resting on his belt. One fair brow is slightly raised. “Nice shirt.”

Kieran tries his best not to blush. He’s wearing an oversized flannel, red and black tartan which drowns his scrawny frame. He’s had to stop his work and push back the sleeves several times. It’s not a terribly practical thing to wear to say the least. Buts it’s... comfy. “Thanks.”

Arthur also takes the opportunity to light a cigarette. “Where’d you get it?”

Kieran fumbles for a minute, trying to think of something. Over at the fire, Bill looks up. “M’borrowing it.”

“Who from?” asks Arthur, blowing out some smoke.

Kieran takes a drag from his own, biting his lip after the fumes leave his nostrils. “Mr Williamson.”

“Really?” The taller man looks over his shoulder, fully aware that Bill is there and watching them both.

Dropping the cigarette on the ground and stamping it out, Kieran finds he can’t quite look Arthur in the eye. “I g-got all messed up, fell in some mud... Bill was nice enough to lend me it.”

He wonders if it’ll wash.

It seems to work. Arthur doesn’t look _quite_ convinced, though. He takes the cigarette from his mouth and calls over to Bill. “That’s awful charitable of you, Bill.” He says, with a mischievous edge that makes Kieran sweat. “You ain’t going soft are you?”

Bill sits up straighter, his beer forgotten for a second, and his hands curl and uncurl into fists atop his knees. Kieran’s throat tightens.

“Aw lay off Morgan-” says Bill, while he waves a dismissive hand in the fellow gang member’s direction. “Sides’ it would offend Miss Grimshaw’s sensibilities if the kid went around without a shirt on.”

Kieran slumps against the tree he’s leaning on in relief, chuckling nervously when Arthur glances back toward him, “It'd be c-cold too, heh.” He says.

“I guess you’re right.” Arthur finishes his smoke and grinds the stub into the dirt with the toe of his boot. “I better get back to it, see ya.” He waves at Kieran and Bill before turning around and sauntering back into the cluster of tents and wagons that make up camp.

“Bye Arthur.” Kieran calls after, and makes sure he’s gone before letting out a long exhale and letting his head fall back against the bark of the tree.

After a minute, Kieran peels himself away from his resting spot and goes over to give Branwen a sugar cube; he always kept treats in his pockets for the horses. Sometimes the greediest of them would try and stick their muzzles into his coat to sneak a few extra; it always made Kieran laugh.

Laughter is precious to him these days.

While he fusses over his stallion, Bill rises from the small camp fire and casually walks over; whistling as he does so. Kieran resists the urge to roll his eyes; Bill really doesn’t do ‘subtle’.

The bigger man leans over Kieran, leaning on Branwen who for his part doesn’t seem to mind the extra weight. Bill dips his head and talks right into Kieran’s ear, his breath is hot and smells of the drink; he emanates a faintly musky odour. It’s like having a hound dog breathing down your neck – but it’s not unpleasant.

Kieran used to startle when Bill came so close.

“He’s right about one thing...” Bill murmurs, his brown eyes alight despite the fact he’s been on the bottle for a good half an hour. “It does look good on ya...”

The flattery makes Kieran shiver. He’s unused to praise, of any kind. “You think he suspected anything?”

“Morgan? Naw, he might act all smart but he ain’t got a clue.” Bill says, with the confidence of a man with a few beers inside him. Kieran isn’t so sure, he’ll have to keep an eye out for Arthur; the man is cleverer than folks give him credit for.

Cleverer than even Arthur gives _himself_ credit for. Kieran wouldn’t be surprised if Arthur already knows.

Bill paws at Kieran. “Come’ere darlin’-” His words are slightly slurred.

He slowly turns Kieran around, his massive hand's on the other man’s skinny shoulders. Kieran is taller, by an inch or two maybe, but slouches constantly and tries to make himself as small as possible. He certainly feels small compared to a giant of a man like Bill.

Kieran’s hands fall to Bill’s expansive chest; it rises and falls under his palms. He pushes back, just enough to keep the bigger man at a distance. His gaze skitters toward the camp, watching for signs of anyone approaching. “We’re not... there are people about, Billy.” Kieran says, voice hushed.

Bill runs a hand through Kieran’s beard, and then tugs on the end; bringing his face towards his own. “Just a quick one, then?” he asks, capturing Kieran’s chin in his huge hand. It’s calloused, but warm.

“Alright then...” Kieran leans in. It’s how it usually is. Bill is mostly talk about these things, but when it comes down to business Kieran finds himself leading.

Bill nips Kieran’s lip with his teeth, just enough to make heat rise in the ex O'Driscoll's belly. They could go on like this, fall into each other; Kieran would use his nails on Bill’s wide back. But they can’t, not now.

So they come apart.

Panting like horse after a run, Bill is flushed, sweat gathers on his forehead. Kieran meets his eyes, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “See ya later, then?”

Bill coughs, backing away and trying to step back into his role. “Sure.” He grabs his beer from where he left it - by the camp fire - swigging it before marching off to play cards with Lenny and Hosea.

Kieran sighs, patting Branwen on the flank. “He’ll never change.”


End file.
